Mercury Poisoning
by bubblegumkiss
Summary: His eyes were like two enchanted pools of liquid mercury. Mercury poisoning could result in tremors, hallucinations, emotional instability, insomnia or dementia. I must have been poisoned, because I had all those symptoms. HG POV Please review!
1. Chapter 1

Hello this is my first DMxHG fic, but I've worked hard on the plot and everything. I hope I'll finish it because I have issues finishing things. I'm okay with all types of reviews. I believe this is an original story, I'm pretty sure no one has the same plot and the same way of writing it. But then again there might be some references to stories I've read before. This story was written like over a year ago when I was really bored and I felt like I needed a creative outlet. It's written in Hermione's point of view.

This is just the prologue. And I also think it's going to not follow the books as much. I'm not sure yet. So anyway enjoy! Please, please, please, tell me what you think just take a minute to review PLEASE. Thank you :)

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I suppose he always knew the effect he had on me.

He had seen the light shining in my eyes hinting at the emotion I refused to let my lips express. He had noticed the way my lips parted in a gasp of awe to replenish the air that had have left me at the sight of him. He had definitely known the way my knees buckled at the strange glint in his eyes when they fell upon me, always calculating and cold. Back then I just gave myself too much credit as being an expert at hiding my emotions to acknowledge his keen observational skills.

He knew all those things then, but he can't possibly know the effects he left on me now.

I could never get myself to be as perfectly guarded with my emotions as he could. Before him, I never really had the need to hide what I felt. But with him, it was impossible not to be guarded. He picked up the tiniest telltale signs of emotion and used it against others. He must have had some twisted built in radar to detect fear. After all, it was his favorite emotion to manipulate. Any sign of weakness and he pounced on it. He was a predator, one that played with its food before finally eating it. It was the game he lived for, the food just kept his body alive. In the same way, Draco lived for the chase, for the manipulation. The people he terrorized, they just fed his reputation.

What was it that people called him? The Slytherin Prince. He was no prince, a perfect example of the ideal Slytherin and an arrogant one to boot, but certainly not a prince.

Especially, not in the beginning. No one, not even the Slytherins, had respected him but no one had feared him either. They had simply feared his name. They had feared his name almost as badly as they had feared Voldemort and they had hated him just as much. They had talked about him, in hushed whispers, or else in angry tirades between each other but all had been behind closed, highly charmed, doors.

Surprisingly he somehow seemed to know everything. Whether it was the tiniest implied insult or the most secretive gossip uttered in the girls' bathrooms, if it had to do with him, he knew all about it. He certainly was no fool. He always knew the other Slytherins talked about him. He had always known how much they hated him and wanted to teach him a lesson.

The only two people who had been stupid enough to not hate him back then, but to actually want his approval were his two lackeys: Crabbe and Goyle. They became his most trusted "friends." I don't suppose he really considered them friends, I don't think he considered anyone a friend, but they were certainly the most loyal. Even now, what wouldn't they do for him? The two were "taught" by their fathers to respect "the Malfoy brat" and were too stupid to realize the underlying tone of the message. But of course "the Malfoy brat" had changed it and gained what he at first didn't deserve.

When he first entered Hogwarts as an arrogant, bossy little prick, the older Slytherins were very much unified in the thought of breaking his little ego to pieces and putting him in place. The stupid little git was getting all the wrong ideas and much too cocky. They weren't going to let a first year rule them even if he was the Malfoy heir.

At eleven, he was a scrawny little punk. Skinny and without any hard muscle, he couldn' t do much but rely on the protection of his two lackeys. In fact, he had such a picky appetite he rarely ate and was still rather skinny in his later years. He often took a beating, several in fact. He never screamed, resisted, or cried. If at the end he was conscious, he'd laugh at his tormentors in all his bloodied glory. In the end the Slytherins thought he was rather insane, but at some point it developed into admiration. Go figure. Slytherins would admire insanity, I suppose.

He wouldn't tell me all the details, but he had said that as time went on he somehow overcame the "disrespect" and in the end, earned his title as the Slytherin prince. I laughed at his referral to himself as a prince but especially at his lame and evasive ending. He glared at me, catching the latter part of my thoughts and spitting out rather coldly, "No, you stupid bitch. I didn't get any help from daddy dearest." I didn't know if I had hurt his pride or if he simply realized how chummy he was being with me and decided it was time to back away.

How was it possible to feel so strongly for someone who did nothing but abuse you. He didn't hit me, or physically hurt me, but he hurt my pride. He often made me feel inferior and I never knew whether it was because he honestly thought I was inferior or if that's just the way he treated everyone around him. Perhaps, it was because I often took a hit at his pride. The more pride you hold in yourself, the much more hurtful a hit at it is. But did he have to hurt mine so often that it practically crumbled into dust? At those low points, I often wondered: How could I have chosen a Malfoy over sweet, understanding Ron?

It wasn't as though Ron was perfect either, but he was a much better person than Draco. Ron with his temper was nothing compared to Draco in his. And yet I chose to love him and reject Ron. Perhaps, it wasn't me that chose, but fate simply designated him to me. Or rather, it was that fate dumped the cold hearted bastard on me. Am I his caretaker or is he mine? If he's my caretaker, he's done a crappy job so far and yet, it's amazing that I still love him.

I find myself to be hypocritical. I suppose I come off as a person who is righteous, who'd choose personality over the outer appearance, but who can reject a dragon for his cold hearted cruelty when his physical beauty is so breathtaking. Who can choose a loyal, domesticated simple dog or cat, compared to my lovely, dangerous, untamable dragon?

He was so beautiful. He skin was smooth and cold like Michelangelo's marble sculptures, he was so blindingly pale he glowed. His hair was touched by the moon's rays and had a sheen that put the stars to shame. His face was angular, aristocratic and always pulled into a bored, careless expression. His eyes were what drew you to him. It was like staring into two enchanted pools of liquid mercury.

Liquid mercury was once called the Elixir of Life. It promised the naive long life and riches when in fact, it was a deadly poison. Mercury poisoning could result in tremors, hallucinations, emotional instability, insomnia or dementia. I must have been poisoned, because I had all those symptoms.

I never admitted it to the other girls, but I certainly agreed when they spent hours upon hours describing his every beautiful, graceful move. Girls from every house of every age talked about him, stayed up all night thinking about him but they always concluded their traitorous thoughts with, "It's too bad he's such a slimy git." Yet even with that sentence uttered repetitively like some sacred female mantra by every girl in the school, perhaps even a few guys, there were always a couple stupid girls who'd continue sighing and daydreaming. They believed that their beauty, their charm, their quirky nature or their intelligence could change his ways and be united with him as happy, perfect, soul mates. Master of detecting and manipulating weakness, he was always took advantage of these girls who happily threw themselves at him at any open chance. They always got their poor little hearts broken.

I never let myself fall into that trap. I refused to let my heart react to anything he said. I never believed his bullshit, bullshit so beautiful and romantic that it could even melt the Devil's frozen abyss of a heart, because deep down inside I knew people didn't change. He wasn't about to give anything up for me and I told him to get rid of any childish and improbable thoughts of my giving anything up for him. He laughed at me. I stuck my nose up at him and turned to walk away from him, but before I could get far, he had pulled me back into his arms. My traitorous body didn't put up much of a fight, and with a damned chaste peck of his lips against mine, I just melted into him. My mind, which at that moment was drunk off his smell and dizzy from his eyes, had seethed with anger when away from him. I wanted to prove to him I'd never give anything up to such a slimy git.

Well there went my pride once more, because after everything was over I realized that I ended up giving up everything, gaining nothing, and to what end?

Memories are like photos. They can be locked up in chests and hidden in the back of your mind until you forget they exist, or they can be looked at so many times the details fade like the corners of a photo, they can be destroyed, or they can be treasured. But memories of him, these "photos," are so numerous that I don't know what to do with them. I don't want to throw them out, or lock them away, but I certainly want to stop replaying them in my mind like some broken record. That's why I've decided to make an album, a scrapbook in a sense, so while keeping the memories safe, and able to constantly be looked at, they can't deteriorate or be destroyed unless the book itself is. Would you destroy my album?


	2. Chapter 2

Our hatred was disgustingly strong. We probably could have moved mountains if it served in satiating our hatred. Even now, I don't think my love for him ever existed without an equally strong amount of hate. The first moment I truly and utterly felt a certain hatred for him was the very first time I stumbled into him. Its amazing how first encounters and first impressions can affect any relationship between two people.

He was arrogant, obnoxious, and a downright nasty little bugger. Yet it was obvious that he was just as nervous and excited as I was about the first day of school. I hadn't known anyone when I first climbed into the train. It was a miracle I ever figured out how to get to platform 9 and 3/4 but it was much worse trying to find a compartment with someone who I could become friends with. I peeked into multiple train compartments seeing several of them filled with intimidating, older, returning students and all the while I kept hoping to find an empty one. When I finally found one occupied solely by a pale boy, who in my opinion looked a bit sickly from the compartment window, I walked in. He faced away from me, towards the window of the train, looking out at the people, perhaps at his family, his hand lightly rested on a copy of Standard Book of Spells Grade 1.

"How do you do?" I asked as politely and sweetly as I could manage.

I waited there for an answer, with one hand on my hips and another holding my baggage, the door propped open with my foot. He neither looked up nor acknowledged my presence. In fact, I almost took him as someone who was deaf.

"Well, you look a bit pale. Are you all right?" I dragged my things in. Peered at him as I settled some of my luggage and continued talking in hopes that I could come off as someone friendly enough to not be shy around. I hadn't realized his silence wasn't attributed to shyness.

"What's you name?"

No answer.

"My name is Her-,"

"I don't care what you're name is. Get out." His response was cold and sharp. He still hadn't bothered to look at me. I couldn't understand what exactly his bloody problem was.

"Look I'm just trying to-,"

"Get out."

"Well you don't have to be such a-,"

"Damned mudblood." He finally looked at me. That was the first time I encountered his eyes: stormy, glinting, cold and at that moment quite malicious.

I stared at those eyes for a bit. I had lost my train of thought, my sense of time, when I stared into his mercury eyes, I felt like the light that reflected in them caused the gray to swirl. Liquid mercury. I couldn't help thinking that his eyes looked like liquid mercury. I felt like I was drowning in it, and the poisonous vapors were deteriorating my body.

When I finally broke out of my imaginative reverie, I realized that this boy, this pale, pointy faced little boy, was my first taste of an insult that I had doubted I'd ever be confronted with.

"What?" I sputtered out.

"Merlin! Are you deaf?" He stared me down with those eyes.

"What did you … just call me?"

"Mudblood." He sneered.

"I … you don't even know me."

I tried to make him doubt his words. Who was he to call me such a foul insult? What if I had been a pureblooded witch? He was certainly a first year as I identified the lesson book on the chair beside him. So how could he know? Even pureblooded wizards couldn't be sure, could they?

"Exactly. I don't know you. So you must be a mudblood."

"What if I was halfblooded?" I asked in a voice that didn't hold all the incredulity I felt.

"Halfboods and mudbloods both have the same dirty blood running through them." He replied simply, waving away my question before raising an eyebrow at me.

"And if I was a foreigner?"

"You'd have an accent."

I was honestly stumped. What was wrong with being a muggleborn witch? What in the world was exactly wrong with it? It wasn't as though he was anymore adept or powerful, or was he? My doubts from the summer reawakened. What if I wasn't any good at this stuff? But a little voice at the back of my mind whispered, "What if you are?" And I began to feel a sense of indignation at the unjust prejudice against me.

"Why are you still here? Get out." He indicated he was finished with me by turning away from me.

I was too shocked and insulted to realize I had allowed myself to be dismissed by leaving when he had turned away. But I did have enough pride to stop myself at the door; my knuckles had turned white as I clenched the handle of my luggage. I didn't bother to turn and look at him.

"I may be a … a … m-mudblood, but at least I'm not a cold, unfeeling monster. You may look like a human on the outside but you're insides are like that of a troll."

He had tried to say something but I slammed the door shut behind me and ran to the next compartment where I had befriended Neville instead.

After that encounter things just got worse between us. My friendship with his archenemy just further added to the fire, fueling our already fierce hatred. But then again was Harry his archenemy? Perhaps it was just an excuse to hate me even more; me, who was his real archenemy. He was just too full of his Merlin be damned pride to actually admit it to anyone, least of all himself.

I had always felt that this war between the Slytherin Prince and the "Golden Trio" had nothing to do with Harry, or even the Syltherin/Gryffindor rivalry but more to do with me and his hatred for me. He had actually declared war against me before he had against Harry. There were countless muggleborns in the school, yet for some reason I was the only one he taunted to the extent that he did.

We began with childish things. Taunting one another and even those associated with us. As we grew older we planned newer and better ways to get even. In public, I'd stick to ignoring the enemy unless the other side initiates, but in private, I often was the brains of any and almost every plan to sabotage our dear princey and make it look as though it had nothing to do with us. But he always knew. He had also always known the real culprit behind the pranks.

At meal times I'd sit facing him knowing that he'd sit facing me. We'd stare each other down. He'd smirk, but his eyes were cold and malicious. I could see his brain concocting a new plan. He'd see my body stiffen slightly and he'd know that my wariness was, in a sense, fear. Because in reality as much as I shouldn't have been afraid but rather alert, I was definitely frightened of what those poisonous eyes were saying to me.

There were many encounters. After all we did live in the same castle and have numerous classes together. No one seemed to realize how deep our relationship went. How often we seemed to clash and yet how equally often we sought each other to clash again.

The events in the biographies about Harry written by JK Rowling, rarely seemed to include all the fiery clashes between the students. The books after all were intended for the younger audiences so they didn't have everything that happened in our years together. Especially not the events between Draco and I, but then again why would a book about Harry Potter really want to talk about my personal life and all?

Of course she wrote about general things, like that time in third year when I got a real good punch at his face, but that really wasn't the only time I had hit him. Some events in the book were glorified, some complete bull shit, and most was just left out. She simplified so many of the personalities of the people that I knew and even my personality was so simple and stereotypical.

Yes, I was a bookworm, slightly overbearing, a good girl, and a person that's very passionate about the rights of oppressed people. But she hadn't caught the deeper traits that I believe truly make me who I am. If I had to describe myself I would say that I'm strong. Above everything I'm strong both mentally and physically. I'm bold, bossy, annoying sometimes prissy, fierce, headstrong, unafraid, intelligent, naïve, kind, curious, witty, sarcastic, and optimistic. I'm not just the two dimensional character she made me to be.

Draco's character was also lacking in so many features. He was so hard to figure out in general. So many different traits and yet each one was so intricately hidden from prying eyes. He wasn't only cocky, vain, arrogant, prideful, cynical, angry and a tyrannical bully. He was hateful, spiteful, sly, manipulative, intelligent, well-spoken, cool and especially calculating. You could always see him sizing up the opponent and calculating the next 10 moves ahead like a chess player. He always knew what the opponent was going to do next, and perhaps that was what infuriated him about me. He couldn't figure me out. Of course I could rarely ever figure him out as well.

There were multiple times when he did something or said something that seemed to completely contradict his character, or at least what I thought his character was, and then I'd have to re-evaluate him. It was like a constant list of traits in my mind that I'd often add to. Why was he so complicated?

He was second in our year when it came to grades. So I knew that he was more than just intelligent. He sometimes would beat me at test grades and papers. That was another unspoken war between us. I think that if it wasn't for Draco I probably wouldn't have studied so hard and been dubbed as "the bookworm".

In classes my main objective for answering every question that I could possibly answer is to prove to him and to everyone else that as a muggleborn witch I'm more than capable of being a part of the magical world. That first encounter with Draco in our first year on the train was a memory that had burnt itself into my mind and I was constantly measuring myself up to that. It was the one photo in my mind that had been laminated and would never fade and never be forgotten.

In the beginning, he had sneered at me. He continued to discourage me and tell me countless times how worthless I was and remind me that I was just a mudblood. But somewhere along the way he acknowledged me as a rival, some tiny part of him knew that he should hold something akin to respect for the muggleborn witch who was the very opposite of him in everyway and yet seemed to beat him at every magical subject. It hurt his pride. I was the splinter in his pride. A girl that should mean nothing to him yet caused him a world of pain. He agonized over it because he just could not beat me. So he resorted to other things.

When we crossed in the halls he used to trip me. He wanted to humiliate me in one way or another. In the beginning I didn't even have Harry and Ron to be there for me. I was so alone and it was worse when there was some one picking on me. I had no friends, maybe Neville, but he wasn't someone I could really confide in.

I believe that it should have been the most miserable period of my life and yet it hadn't been. Of course I felt alone but the attention Draco had given me, as evil and horrible as it had been, was attention nonetheless.

I had never felt like I was invisible when Draco did one thing or another to humiliate me. His want to hurt and crumble me had actually strengthened and made me feel like I was something of worth. Eventually I had strengthened myself enough to devise ways to humiliate him back. I sent small spells aimed at him. One to make the gel in his hair turn green, one to tip over his goblet, another to cause a thread in his bag to loosen so that throughout the day his bag would slowly unravel and then eventually break apart without a real person to blame. I even sent a spell at another girl's skirt causing it to fly up right when Draco had passed making it seem like he had lifted her skirt.

He must've been lonely too, because we could never stop our games.

I think there were times we secretly hoped we'd end up somewhere together alone, just to see what the other person would do in those instances. Or maybe that was just me. There were many instances in which we had encountered each other alone though. Yet no matter how badly they turned out, I always looked forward to the next time we'd come face to face.

The library was one place where we always seemed to end up seeing each other. It was a place that had become my sanctuary and my answer to everything. It would have been a battleground but I think he held a reverence to the books there as much as I did. We often sat at opposite ends of the library but we were aware of each other at all times. I knew when he would come, I knew what books he would choose to read and what books he held comfort in and would read over and over again if he was troubled. He was like me in so many ways. The characteristics that were the most similar to me were the ones that took me awhile to discover. Yet they were also the ones that allowed me to feel closer to him.

Our differences were the first things for me to notice about him. They were easier to spot and easier to persecute him for. We were the opposite in many ways. The most obvious was in the way we looked. For a bookworm I had a healthy tanned glow. I didn't play Quidditch, but I played muggle sports. I was also a runner. I loved running because it felt like I was weightless and sometimes when I run it feels like I leave all my stress and problems behind me. My muscles were lean, my hair dark and unruly. He was pale, as though he'd never left the house or even seen the sun. His hair was always perfect and smooth, glistening in the sun with a lightness that was almost white. I had freckles across my cheeks, and my eyelashes were like a thick curtain shielding the world from my deep hazel eyes. His long, thin, pale eyelashes grazed against clear, smooth alabaster cheeks and were like chiffon curtains that decorated the windows of his soul. His eyes already shielded themselves. His beautiful mercury eyes were poisonous and misleading. I was short and curvy (in my later years of course) and he was tall, and thin. My face was round, slightly heart-shaped, while his was angular, pointy and aristocratic.

I guess in a sense opposites really do attract. At least for a short time.

Since I often ran to rid myself of stress, I was able to explore many parts of the castle grounds. Eventually, I found a strange comfort in the Quidditch pitch. It was the one place where I couldn't fully embrace and yet I did in my own way. I wasn't a flyer, a broom would never listen to my command and even if it did, I wouldn't be able to stay in the sky too long. You can't learn how to overcome fear of heights from books.

So rather than loving the Quidditch pitch from the skies, I learned to love it from the ground. I came to love the ground, the endless soft grass that was perfect to lay on and to gaze at the stars. On rainy days I sat on the bleachers under the awnings that shielded me from the rain, and I would watch the lightening flash, and then rain pour. I sometimes danced in the rain on the wet grass without any shoes.

And I felt free.

The oddest part was when Draco would be there before me, or come while I was there. The Quidditch pitch somehow became mutual territory as well. In our later years we shared the pitch. In the middle of the night, maybe around two in the morning, one of us would already be there and the other would wordlessly lie down beside them. How or why we did that was a mystery to me. All I know is that it became mutual territory. We'd never tell a soul and if anyone saw us we'd deny it straight to hell.

In fifth year, it must've been close to five in the morning. I remember the sun just barely rising. We'd already been there for at least a couple hours. I don't remember if either of us had fallen asleep or anything during the entire night. I do remember watching the sun rise. I do remember our fingertips brushing against each other amidst the plush green grass that was wet with dew. I do remember making the mistake of looking at him and he had been looking at me. And most of all, I do remember getting lost in his mercury eyes. I couldn't read them. I didn't know what the emotion behind them was, I didn't know the answers to anything, I just knew that I was lost in the swirling gray and I wasn't scared.

We continued pulling our pranks on each other that day as though nothing had happened.

It was weird but during those times when the world was completely asleep I felt the least lonely. Out there in the vast Quidditch pitch, in the dark, with the one person who hates me the most, I felt the least lonely and the least worthless. I must be the most ironic and self destructive person I know to think that. In a way, he gave me a reason to live. He was the one who wished I'd die, and the one that believed I couldn't be anything important, he was the one who broke my spirit, hurt my pride and yet he made me feel the most alive. Maybe it was because he didn't accept me, and my goal was to prove him wrong so it gave me a reason to continue striving to be the absolute best and to do more than just the average.

I have no idea what he had been thinking back then though.

With all library and Quidditch pitch encounters, it's odd that we had never talked. The only times we talked were during the day, in front of everyone else. Where we'd simply insult each other and use every bit of our wits to destroy each other. I think words would have ruined what we had anyway. Even later on when our relationship changed, we rarely talked. Talking somehow made us feel like we were in too deep and that we couldn't control what we were doing anymore.

For us, it was always about control. Little did we know back then that we had no control over anything to begin with, so we were fighting for control that didn't exist.

We couldn't control each other, we couldn't control ourselves, and we couldn't control what happened after everything was done with. We were so powerless. We are so powerless.

I am so powerless.

I just never knew it back then, and he didn't either.

Over the years, I changed, he changed, hell everyone changed. But I know that our relationship, his and mine, Draco and me, changed the most.

Our passionate and emotional hatred, that simply couldn't be placated with a couple of ridiculing actions, a slap to the face, or hurtful insults, needed to be expressed in other ways. As time went on, we found those other ways.

We probably wouldn't have if our hatred hadn't escalated to a point beyond a reasonable level. It'd gotten so out of hand that it had turned into a sort of obsession. Perhaps he hadn't spent as much time hating me, but I had changed so much because of the energy and time I put into hating him. It was no longer a simple war between children but it had become something I would have died trying to win. Or maybe in a sense it was all a cover up. Perhaps I just hated that I felt something for him other than hate. Perhaps I tried changing what I felt for him into hate but it had simply been impossible to do so.

I think my obsession deepened as he grew closer to Pansy. Of course he was always close to her, but there was a sort of territorial feeling that I held for him. He was the reason I strived so hard, and yet if he stopped paying attention to me then I wouldn't be able to live. My obsession was to live. To live was to continue getting that hatred from him.

I didn't realize that I had already been poisoned by his eyes from the very beginning. I only see it now. Now that everything is over and done with.


	3. Chapter 3

In sixth year, one beautiful day in early October we'd gone too far with a prank. Actually, it was my prank that had gone wrong, but what had ensued was both our faults. Or maybe we could blame fate again for things like that.

It was a lovely Monday morning. The sun was shining brightly through the window, but I had a headache. A headache attributed to a bloody hangover which in turn could be attributed to the damned night before which in turn could be attributed to the damned people I called friends. Waking up to a glorious morning with a sun-filled, clear blue sky, and little birds singing cheerfully made me want to curse the living daylights out of the damned girls who slept like baby rhinos in the beds next to mine. I glared blearily at their forms. If only the boys that seemed to adore them so could see how their darling girls looked at this very moment.

Bloody Parvati.

Bloody Lavender.

Oh-ho bloody ho. Look who wandered into our dorm room.

Ginerva Bloody Weasley. Sleeping on the bloody floor there looking quite the spectacle.

I grimaced. I felt nauseous and very vindictive. Walking to the bathroom over the mess that we called our dorm was absolutely impossible with the state I was in. Therefore, I did not walk, but rather crawled with all the dignity I could muster. Not looking where I was particularly crawling but using all my energy and concentration on the act, I crawled right through what I'm positive was someone's puked up liquor and then right through somebody's piss. I was definitely positive it wasn't Crookshanks' piss. Bloody trashed bitches. I thought. I'll murder you all.

We had decided to celebrate, rather belatedly, the completion of the Quidditch team as well as to just have a break from the horribly stressful and work laden start of term. Saturday night, however due to some unforeseen problems (damned Peeves and also damned Ron, not to mention bloody Mrs. Norris) we moved the party over to Sunday night. Merlin, it was bloody miracle that Filch hadn't discovered our little party in the abandoned classroom on the 5th floor. It was a damned miracle that no one had been caught on the way back from the bloody party either, what with the state they had all been in. The state WE had all been in. THE STATE I HAD BEEN IN.

I wasn't too happy at that moment.

"I'll never drink this much. Ever. Bloody. Again. Holy sh-" I heaved into the toilet before I could finish my sentence. I couldn't even catch my breath before the next wave of last night's liquor gushed out. It took one last cleansing of my stomach before it all stopped. I cursed every single person at that party last night. Repeating curses for the main people responsible for the state I was in. I had specifically said that I didn't want anything alcoholic. But no. None of them would listen. Spiking my bloody drinks, the lot of them. By the time I had realized that something was wrong with me, I was too busy readily accepting straight up shots of Merlin only knows what. Bloody, damned, bastards.

I walked towards the shower, slightly stumbling with the effort to walk in a straight line. Talk about cranky, I was in one hell of dreadful mood, but with the warm water that lightly beat against my back, I relaxed. It was then that I remembered our plan for that morning. Malfoy. My face lit up with a malicious smirk. Or rather what I had hoped was a malicious smirk rather than a drunken madwoman's crazed smile. We, or rather I, had come across a rather brilliant little hex in one of my bedtime reading books.

After my shower I found Lavender's box filled with vials of potions varying from hangover cures, pepper-ups, to glamour and something I couldn't identify but which gave off a strange odor of roses. Taking another whiff, I smelled a bit of chocolate and cinnamon. "It's a love potion." I realized, a bit disturbed by the fact that Lavender possessed a couple vials of this weaker yet still effective love potion.

"Lavender?" I turned towards the sleeping girl. She was slightly drooling and she was snoring so loudly it was unbelievable that her small delicate nose was capable of such a sound. Imagine the look on Ron's face, I thought.

"Lavender. Wake up."

"Oh mummy, just a little longer." She mumbled before turning over in her sleep.

"Lavender, if you don't wake up now you'll miss your chance to shower before Parvati." Lavender moaned in response. I glanced across the room to see that Ginny was still here and sleeping soundly as ever. "Apparently, you'll have to compete against Ginny as well."

Lavender gave another moan. She rolled over. I looked back at Parvati and when I had turned back to Lavender she was rolling once more, this time right over the bed. She awoke at the sudden impact and her screech had the lovely effect of waking everyone else while shattering my currently oversensitive eardrums as well.

"Merlin hex you to hell and bloody make you stay there. My headache is back." I glared at her form sprawled on the floor.

"Shut it, you." She replied fiercely, not even bothering to get up off the floor.

"Both of you, shut your ugly faces." Yelled Ginny grinning cheekily at us before getting off the floor and crawling into my bed.

I threw one of Parvati's stuffed animals at her. It screamed in protest, screamed louder at impact and caused Ginny to look ready for bloody murder. She ripped the head off the thing before turning her furious eyes to me. I shrugged her off nonchalantly, took a glance at Parvati before turning my attention to Lavender again. Parvati had already fallen back asleep. 5:45 in the morning was much too early for her.

"Well since you're bloody awake now, can I have this hangover pot?" I asked, holding the vial of potion in front of her and lightly shook it side to side.

She looked at it carefully, her eyes watched the liquid swirl and mix before she looked ready to hurl. She glared at me irritably. "Smell it. I have a Merlin damned load of shit in that box. I'm sure a smart girl like you can identify it though and not take the wrong one." Whether the latter comment was sarcastic or not, I didn't much care. I had been in a worse mood when I got up that morning so I can't really judge her for her damned crankiness. Oops, was that my bitter voice?

"Yea, I wouldn't want to take one of your darling, little love pots and be a lesbian for a day." I muttered as she walked towards the shower. She threw her loofa at me. I stuck my tongue out at her and threw it back, knowing she'd want it in the shower. I opened the vial and grimaced at the smell. It was a nasty hangover pot alright.

I walked down to breakfast, feeling much less nauseous and much more alert, not to mention excited. "Malfoy, malfoy. That last stunt you pulled is nothing compared to this." I thought.

"Oh, Malfoy." Apparantly, I had said his name out loud.

"Why in heaven's name are you calling out, so lovingly mind you, our dear ferret's name?" Asked Ron, popping up beside me.

"I don't know Ron, she kind of had this mad glint in her eyes." Harry laughed, appearing on the other side of me.

I looked at them both, smiling, as thoughts of last night and my dreadful morning fluttered into my mind.

"My lovely best friends." I hugged them closer to me.

"Had a good morning? " Harry asked putting his arm around me lightly.

"My darling best friends." I pinched their cheeks lightly and smiled cutely.

"That we sure are." Beamed Ron.

The bloody, thick-skulled, idiot. I thought as my eyes narrowed slightly.

"Uh oh." Harry noticed the look in my eyes first. His arm dropped off my shoulder as he took step away from me.

"My bloody traitorous horrible best friends." My tone grew darker and darker. I stopped walking.

Ron and Harry shared a look of sudden terror before I hit them both on the backs of their heads.

"YOU HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE EXCUSE FOR BEST FRIENDS." I had begun to punch each boy in turn on their chests and arms.

"I SHOULD JUST SKIN YOU TWO ALIVE. I ACTUALLY KNOW THE BLOODY INCANTATION FOR THE VERY ACT. THE ONLY THING THAT'S STOPPING ME IS-"

"Is what exactly?" Draco interrupted then. He looked so calm and collected. His green and silver tie hung loosely about his neck, his sleeves were rolled up by the elbows, his slightly wrinkled shirt was left untucked, his black school robe was draped on his arm and surprisingly his hair not gelled back but rather hanging softly about his face. I was faintly aware of my lips parting in disbelief. He was so utterly perfect and yet at that very moment I wanted nothing more than to turn my anger on him instead of my two cowering best friends. Of course, the two boys were no longer cowering as Draco had barged into our lovely picture.

"Go the fuck away." I said sharply before turning back to Harry and Ron. I would have started on my rant once more, however I was distinctly aware that the git had not moved an inch. With my back to him, I waited for him to either leave or say something. I wasn't looking at Harry or Ron but behind them at the oncoming students. My eyes slipped out of focus and I waited patiently. I knew he was just biding his time. Just waiting for me to turn in all my fury and lose control of myself as I had so often done. I wouldn't do that this time. I smirked as I waited for him to lose interest, to be the one to lose control, yet I had begun to lose my patience.

"Bloody hell." I silently mouthed. I couldn't take it anymore, but right as I was about to turn and face him, he spoke.

"Granger."

I continued to look behind Harry and Ron. "Yes, Malfoy?" I asked sweetly while spitting his name out like venom.

"Well why have you stopped?" He asked smoothly.

"Because I don't feel that you really need to hear what I've got to say to these two. You bloody bastard." I said the first half but thought the latter.

"Oh." He exclaimed innocently. I had imagined him examining his perfectly manicured nails which suddenly would explode and he'd cry in bitter agony. My lovely image was disrupted when he continued speaking.

"You didn't seem to mind who had been listening prior to my interruption. Why, if I hadn't made my presence known I highly doubt you would have stopped from making a fool of yourself. I'll be on my way so as not to further disrupt your rather barbaric, uncouth display. Continue. As you were." He finished off with a little twirl of his hand and a mock bow of the head.

I turned around in my utter fury. I felt Ron and Harry back away from me. They were angry at Draco's holier-than-thou attitude but they certainly wouldn't interrupt me in my blind rage.

"You … bloody … little …" My voice was hard to control. The words had been forced through my clenched teeth but before I had said the last word I forced my entire body to shut out emotion. And replaced all expression with a mere smirk, as he turned around to face me I saw surprise flicker across his eyes before he tensed with an acute sense of wariness.

"Malfoy. I just wanted to say thank you for your pardon and for … helping … me to come to the realization that what I had been doing was very ill-mannered. Silly mudbloods just don't know any better."

He had been about to reply, but it was as though I'd robbed the words right out of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes. I almost thought I had triumphed.

"At least you're learning." He smirked.

I wanted to punch his face in as he turned and continued walking towards the Great Hall.

"Oh you'll get what's coming to you, ferrety incompetent jerk." I muttered.

"Gees, I wish that bastard would just sod off." Ron muttered.

I walked after him with Harry and Ron at my heels. I was slightly aware that they were talking about me in low voices, commenting on my insane rivalry with Malfoy. They had begun to notice my increasing rage and fury towards the boy, and yet also the way I had begun to act like the bloody bastard. The way I had swallowed my emotion and put that cool mask on so suddenly had seriously worried my two best friends. They were careful and kept a small distance between themselves and me, but I still heard it all. I was just too busy imagining today's lovely little prank to give much thought to their stupid accusations and worries. Imagining the look of horror on Malfoy's face was the only thing keeping me from jumping on the bastard and clawing his eyes out.

His eyes. I felt my body soften just a bit.

I had refused to look into his eyes since our encounter that very first day of school. I didn't think I could quite meet them again. I would glance in his eyes to look for emotion. When at meal times I stared him down, I never actually looked into his eyes but rather around them, somewhere close to them but never into them. I refused to let myself drown in them like I had.

Mercury.

It was a dangerous substance to play games with.

I continued to stay in my thoughts, only vaguely aware of the many upper class Gryffindors struggling with their food. I looked up when I heard the fluttering of owls. No, it was just my imagination. When were the bloody birds coming?

I surveyed the scene around me.

Parvati still had not come down. Ginny and Lavender looked alright though, a bit cranky, but aside from that they were fine. Thank Merlin for Lavender's miraculous box of pots. Although those love pots were a bit creepy. Was that how she got her many admirers? Not to mention, recently she seemed to make some sort of googly eyes at Ron. I don't know whether it was just the crankiness but my anger seemed to just flare up at the thought of her making eyes at Ron.

After all, aside from her useless giggling at him what had she done for him? I at least Confunded that jerk Mclagger in order to secure Ron's position as Gryffindor Keeper. And that ungrateful bastard Ron had no idea what I did. I'm such a good _friend_. I gritted my teeth.

As I reached over for the toast, I felt his eyes on me. I felt them staring me down, waiting for me to look up. I had half a mind to continue eating and observing my classmates, while ignoring him but I couldn't help it. His bloody eyes kept tugging at me. I finally looked up. Right then the sound of flapping and hoots echoed above the room. We couldn't start our unspoken battle, the owls had finally come. I turned away from him to look at the owl approaching me with the Daily Prophet.

"Thank you" I said, taking the paper and placing the knuts into its little bag. I opened the paper covering my entire face by holding it in front of me. I wasn't reading, just hiding my look of anticipation.

"MILLICENT?!" And there it was. A scream of longing and love. His scream. My victory. A stone cast to kill two birds. Revenge against that bitch for (unwittingly) turning me into a Cat lady in second year, and of course the main event: to embarrass that insufferable prat Malfoy.

"YES, MILLICENT! MILLIE MY LOVE!" Hang on that second voice wasn't his. It wasn't even a male's voice.

I put the paper down only to realize it had been the wrong person to be charmed.

Parkinson. Bloody hell you pug.

"Merlin, that bitch and her ridiculous jealousy." I muttered angrily. She had stolen the cursed love note and read it herself. Now she was the one to be in love with Millicent Bullstrode for the day. Damn it all to hell. I was seething with anger.

He looked up at me. He knew it was me by the murderous look on my face. He knew my plan had gone wrong, but now it was his girlfriend who had been affected. His face was a mask of cool and calm but his eyes were dangerous. Cold, flashing and freezing was his icy glare. Every damned Slytherin backed away from him. Pulling their chairs away for they sensed his anger. They were scared. I sure as hell wasn't.

We were both vaguely aware of the laughter. Pansy was making a spectacle of herself chasing after the poor Millicent who, bleating like a lamb ready for slaughter, ran for dear life. Even thick, ugly Millie didn't want Pansy as a lover. Merlin only knows why Draco loved Pansy, but he did.

Draco and I stared at each other, both standing with our wands ready. My fierce rage came off me in strong waves and his cold fury chilled the air around him, ice clashing against fire. Strangely at that moment I was more concerned about my hair than anything else. I swept my dark unruly curls away from my face. I didn't put it up that day. I remember thinking that I really should have. His furious eyes enchanted me. Swirl, swirl went the poisonous Mercury. I don't know who moved first, but soon we were shooting hex after hex at each other. We nearly caused a damn riot.

What a spectacle.

His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and anger, his mouth a thin line, and his nostrils flared. He had lost all composure. I never had mine. We must have hit at least thirty other innocent students during our duel before we were stupefied by perhaps seven or eight teachers.

If Dumbledore hadn't been our headmaster, there was no doubt we would have both been expelled without a second thought.

I don't think I ever felt as ashamed in my life as I did the moment Dumbledore expressed his disappointment in us. In me. I cried after he left me there in the stiff hospital bed next to a silent Draco.

Our parents were to be notified, our prefect titles and duties under suspension, and we had one hundred points taken off of our houses each. Plus an extra fifty had been taken off from Gryffindor for the prank that humiliated Parkinson. I had cost us nearly all the points that Gryffindor had managed to scrape up including those point that I'd so scrupulously worked at to gain so far, putting us in a dead last place.

Not to mention we had a full three months of detention every day to be served bloody together. Weekends included. The three months of detention would serve as our probation period, should we prove ourselves mature and worthy students, we'd receive our titles and duties of prefect once more. Maybe, Dumbledore had hinted, we'd earn the points we had lost back at the end of our probation depending on our performance.

Should we fail, and go out of line the way we had once more, there would be no hesitation in expelling either of us. Dumbledore's eyes had gone cold. I'd never been at the receiving end of such a chilling look. Not even Draco's glares were as fierce as Dumbledore's had been. In the next moment he smiled warmly, expressed faith in us both, and wished us a quick recovery.

I wished for nothing of the sort.


End file.
